Old Parchment & Green Ink
by lelalee83
Summary: Ginny steals a Time-Turner and devises a plan, but her intentions are ruined by clumsiness. Instead, Riddle kidnaps her and takes her back with him to 1945. The only witness of Ginny's disappearance is Draco Malfoy, and he has a hidden agenda of his own.
1. Chapter One: Shattered

Shout-outs: Thanks to Malinda and peacoquettish for betaing for me. Much love for you, ladies!

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_Old Parchment & Green Ink_

_by lelalee83_

_Chapter One: Shattered_

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"_It is demonstrable," said he, "that things cannot be otherwise than as they are; for as all things have been created for some end, they must necessarily be created for the best end."_

-Voltaire: Candide

She was in a moonlit forest, with absolutely no idea of how she had got there. The only things she could hear were the chirping of thousands of unseen insects and the gentle rustle of the breeze through the trees. Not only could she hear it; she could feel it too, a cool, gentle teasing against her skin. But this was a dream, wasn't it?

The pale full moon looked down, as if in contemplative hesitation, illuminating everything it touched with a phosphorescent glow; under its shimmering light the shadows seemed to have a life of their own. The glitter of innumerable stars could just barely be seen through the trembling leaves, winking as though they knew a big secret. She looked down at herself, surprised to see clothing on her body that she had never laid eyes on before. A thin, grey material was wrapped around her tightly like a second skin, and over it was a black velvet cloak, its hood drawn up over her loosely flowing hair.

She walked forward of her own volition, drawn by something hidden in the thick, wavering shadows of the trees. Her feet were bare, but this did not worry her. The ground she walked upon was soft, dewy grass, like the cool, exquisite touch of satin on her skin.

Ahead she could see a small break in the trees, and on the other side of them was an imposing wall of thorns, brown and barren. Somehow, and there was no question about it at all, she had to find a way through them. There was something extraordinary waiting for her on the other side, she knew. A few moments later she found a narrow opening that resembled a small doorway. Ducking her head low she entered. The thorns on either side were, surprisingly, harmless.

Dread suddenly fell upon her, and in the silvery moonlight she sensed a familiar, hostile presence; someone was watching her-and she knew it was dangerous to turn back.

A moment later she stepped into a large, round clearing, completely encircled by the thick thorn bushes, which were now heavy with crimson, coral, and lavender colored roses she could not smell. In the middle of the clearing stood a young man, clothed in a ground-sweeping cloak. His back was to her, his hooded head bent as though in prayer. She watched him for a few moments, wondering if _he_ was the extraordinary something waiting for her, and then realised that here there was no sound. It was deathly quiet. Turning around, she looked for the narrow door she had come through, only to find that it wasn't there anymore.

"It's gone," said a soft voice behind her. She whirled around with a gasp. The sound of it seemed to echo through the clearing. The cloaked man was facing her. "We're stuck here together now." She took a few steps back and felt the thorns now press sharply through her clothing, warning her to go no further. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest.

"Who are you?" she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. She was unable to.

He took a few steps towards her, his face still not visible, too cast in shadow by the hood he wore. It was as though he had no face at all. "You know who I am." He moved closer, making no sound as he did so; there was no rustle of clothing or soft crush of grass underfoot.

She involuntarily moved back a step, and the thorns cut into her hands, which she had pressed behind her back to hide their trembling. She brought them up to her face and stared at the tiny, red droplets of blood, watching them coalesce to run slowly in a narrow stream down to her wrists. Looking up again, she asked once more, "Who are you?" However, this time he offered no answer at all.

Suddenly, before she could blink, he had her by the wrists. She could not feel his touch. He held her hands, palms up, and showered them with ghost kisses. When he had finished, both the blood and the tiny cuts were gone. She looked at him, trying to see past the thick shadows obscuring his face, but she couldn't. "We're stuck here together," he repeated in a whisper, bringing his lips closer to hers. She could not feel his breath upon her face, or the warmth of his skin, or the length of his body pressing urgently against her own. He reached up and pushed her hood back, before lightly caressing her cheek with a nonexistent touch. "You're beautiful," he said, and then he kissed her.

She could feel everything now; his warm, soft lips, demanding something from her that she wasn't sure she could give, working on persuading her through the hot stroke of his tongue. His hands moved lower and lower, gliding over her back. He drew their bodies closer, his solid and delicate at the same time, and left her in no doubt as to what it was he wanted from her. The scent of the roses was intoxicating, mingling with the heady scent of _him_. She tried to stay strong, tried to keep her thoughts coherent, but it was like trying to stay dry in a flood.

Strange images kept rapidly flashing through her mind; rain streaming down; thin, bare tree branches stark against a darkening sky; shattered glass imbedded in mud; and someone in a black cloak walking away. She didn't understand any of it.

The stranger was still kissing her, his hands working on the clasp at her throat. It finally parted, and he gently pushed the cloak off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. His lips moved to her neck and nipped the soft skin lightly, eliciting several tiny gasps. Suddenly, she was lying on the ground too, her head cushioned by the bundle of discarded cloth, and he was beside her, doing wonderful things with his hand. "Let me," he pleaded.

And she gave in.

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Icy rain fell unceasingly on the grounds of Hogwarts. The students who had been practicing on the Quidditch pitch, or making fools of themselves, had given up before noon, and others gambolling about had admitted defeat only a short time later, clutching umbrellas and water-resistant cloaks with numbed fingers as they slogged up the front steps. The flickering glow of fires- and torchlight could be seen seeping through the drawn curtains of almost every window on this dark February day.

Ginny Weasley made her way along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and then paused to wipe her dripping face on her sleeve. It did absolutely no good. She was now standing beneath the bare, clawed branches of an elm tree, and began to fumble in the neck of her robes, drawing out a small, gold chain. It was a Time-Turner.

Her father worked at the Ministry of Magic, and she had accompanied him there one day during Christmas break. They had stopped to have a chat with Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and she had seen it lying there, forgotten amongst a stack of papers.

Ginny could just make out the spires of Hogwarts Castle that poked up above the rooftops, and the dark outline of Gryffindor Tower, pointing towards the sky like a giant, accusatory finger. No one had probably noticed that she was missing yet.

Wading through the glutinous mud, she thought about why she had made this choice; she thought about why she had decided to leave warmth and all her friends behind to come out into the cold rain, and she thought about her terrifying dreams that plagued her weekly. They were all the same. She would be locked in Myrtle's bathroom, her hands and robes covered in red paint. The water was running in all the taps, save one, and she would try to wash the paint off. It ran down the drain, swirling around in the water, dying it red too. And then the smell of paint was gone, and instead there was an earthy, metallic scent filling her nostrils. Her hands were no longer covered in paint, but blood. She would vigorously begin to scrub and scrub and scrub, yet it still would not come off. Suddenly, the sinks would begin to move, and the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets would appear; the hole was dark and gaping, wrapping her in petrified fear. And then a voice, Tom's voice, calling to her. Last night's dream had been different, however, though no less frightening.

Anyway, there was no turning back now, no matter how much she wanted to. She had to do this.

Ginny's deliberations with herself were interrupted when her right foot turned on a root, and she was sent sprawling into the mire.

As she lay, half-stunned, she could feel the broken fragments of the Time-Turner biting painfully into her chest. Her first thought was that her plans had been ruined.

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People were always disposed to laugh when someone took a tumble, but there was no laughter this time. Ginny caught her breath, grimacing at the mud that now covered her. She used the inside of her cloak to wipe the mess from her face, and then began to struggle to her feet.

A sharp pain in her ankle sent her down again.

"Ow..." She managed to sit up, and bit her lip hard against the throbbing pain.

Well, she couldn't walk. Crawling seemed doubtful, since she was so far away from the castle. It looked like she would have to sit in the mud until someone found her. Considering the wretched weather, and her luck, Ginny would not have been surprised if no one found her till morning. She could possibly spend the night in the open and catch a fever.

"Ginny Weasley," she said under her breath, "dead of a broken ankle."

Suddenly, she saw a dark figure moving towards her along the edge of the trees, under cover of the over-hanging branches. "Please!" she cried. "Help me!"

The figure halted.

"Please help me, I'm hurt."

It started forward slowly. "As if that wasn't obvious." The voice was a smooth alto, like cold glass with sharp, jagged edges. A tall, hooded boy knelt at her side. "Hold still." He began to gently pull her boot from her injured foot, and she jerked away as hot pain raced up her leg. It felt as though thin, sharp needles were puncturing every inch of her skin. "I said hold still." He leaned over her bared ankle, and as he did so pale blond hair slipped out of his hood.

He pulled out a wand and placed it against Ginny's ankle, and she felt a sudden surge of warmth. The pain vanished.

The boy rose, trembling fiercely from the cold, and turned away. Ginny caught his hand.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He pulled away, but did not turn around. "Don't mention it."

She stared, stunned. He had not said that kindly, and she suddenly realised what he meant. She got slowly to her feet. There was no pain. Her whole leg felt better than new. "You healed me," she said, amazed. Healing was very advanced magic. Only Aurors and Medi-Wizards were taught how to perform it.

He turned around, the upper half of his face still hidden in the shadow of his hood, and Ginny was reminded of the young man in her dream. She was surprised to see how pale the skin of his cheek was. It had an almost translucent quality. His blue-tinted lips turned up in a mock smile. "I could've worsened your situation, if I so chose." He turned away in silence. In a moment, the black of his cloak was indistinguishable among the shadows of the cold, dark afternoon. Ginny looked after him.

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The Common room was dim, lit with the warm, golden glow of a fire and a few torches. Outside, the howl of the wind and patter of rain on the window was nearly drowned out by the scattered students' chatter. Harry sat in his favourite chair before the fire. He was watching Ron and Hermione from the corner of his eye. They were smiling at each other.

An almost unbearable pain tightened Harry's chest, a slight burning, but he couldn't bring himself to look elsewhere. His jaw began to hurt, and it was only then that he realised he had been clenching his teeth together. He tried to relax, tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was like trying to ignore a searing pain in his scar.

He was jealous.

Of what exactly? He wasn't even sure himself. Perhaps he was jealous of the fact that Ron looked so happy, or maybe he was jealous because Hermione looked so happy. Maybe it was simply because they looked so happy together. Why should I be jealous of my friends' happiness, he thought. I have no right to be, do I? Of course I don't. They're entitled to a little happiness. I'm not, because I'm the great Harry Potter, hero of the Wizarding World, defender of the defenseless.

Harry closed his eyes, but he couldn't seem to find the comfortable blackness behind his eyelids; all he found was an image of Ron and Hermione, smiling at each other, as though it had been burned into his eyes forever.

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Ginny stood, unsure of whether to go back inside or stay where she was. Who was that boy? He was tall, yes, and blonde. She bit her lip, her brow furrowed in thought. His voice had been vaguely familiar, although she couldn't seem to place it, and his skin had been so pale, like the cream her father put in his coffee every morning. Well, that really narrowed it down, she thought, laughing aloud. There were at least fifty tall, blonde, and pale students at Hogwarts.

He had successfully performed Healing magic. Now _that_ narrowed it down. Healing magic was not a part of the curriculum at Hogwarts. Only witches and wizards pursuing a career in Medi-magic learned how to do it. Aurors learnt it too, but that was not a widely known piece of information. Lupin had told her so, the summer before her fourth year, while healing several bruises and a sprain caused by tripping over Crookshanks and falling down the stairs.

Suddenly, a horrible ripping sound, like a cloak being torn straight down the middle, sliced through the cold air. Ginny whirled around, her eyes widening at what she saw.

The shattered fragments of the stolen Time-Turner lay imbedded in the mud, exactly where she had fallen, but something strange was happening. A jagged line, bleeding lustrous white light, had appeared over the bits of glass. And it was growing.

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_Hogwarts 1945_

He had finally graduated. Never again would he have to smell the stench of Mudbloods and Muggle sympathizers in the corridors, or brush against them as he passed and pretend that it didn't disgust him, or keep up with his tiresome role as a model student.

Staring up at the castle, Tom Riddle spat on the ground, only a small hint of his actual feelings for the place. In his first year, he had thought of it as his home, but as his hatred for Muggles and Mudbloods grew he couldn't love it anymore. Hogwarts was ruined. He would rather see it crumble to the ground.

But he had plans. If everything worked out the way he wanted it to, and he wasn't going to give up until everything did, he would rid the school of its vermin, starting with that Muggle-loving Transfiguration teacher Albus Dumbledore. Of all the teachers, Dumbledore was the only one who seemed to see right through him. It was so hard to look that man in the eye, but Tom would force himself to, even though he couldn't shake the feeling that the old fool was perusing his mind's innermost thoughts.

Only the previous week, Dumbledore had defeated the Dark wizard Grindelwald. Tom didn't really see it as a great achievement. Grindelwald was not all that powerful. He had simply taken advantage of the Wizarding World's fear of exposure due to the war. Otherwise, he would not have posed such an overwhelming threat.

It might take him years, but when he came back he would give the Wizarding World, and the Muggle World, a new definition of fear. The name he had fashioned for himself would become synonymous with terror, torture, and death.

He began to laugh, but an ear-splitting sound, like the slow ripping of fabric, drowned him out. A jagged line, growing in length, had appeared directly in front of him. Tom stared, transfixed. What was it? He gripped his wand, ready to defend himself if anything should happen, but minutes passed and nothing did. Then he remembered.

An acquaintance of his, Mafalda Hopkirk, whose father worked in the Department of Mysteries, had told him about a new device in the works that would enable a witch or wizard to go into the past without the use of highly complicated spells and potions. Months ago he had checked out a book, from the Restricted Section, and learned as much as he could about time-travel, its uses, and its dangers. He had wanted to know all he could, in case it came in handy during his quest for immortality. There had been one particularly interesting chapter about time portals, which were actually nothing more than rips in the fabric of time.

And now he was staring at one.

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As he made his way back towards the castle, Draco Malfoy couldn't seem to forget those wide, awed brown eyes of the youngest Weasley. He could hear her voice in his head, over and over again like a broken Record Charm. _"Thank you." _No one had ever thanked him for anything. Never. Yet Ginny Weasley, a _Gryffindor_, and the daughter of two disgusting blood traitors, had. For some reason he could not fathom, it felt good. Not the kind of satisfied feeling he got when ordering a house elf to slam its hand in the oven door for his amusement, but a real, genuine _good_ feeling. Of course, if she had known just who had healed her ankle, Draco was quite sure that the words 'thank you' would be the last to fall from her lips. She wouldn't have even let him near her.

So why had he healed her?

Before Draco could answer himself, a scream pierced the cold quiet. It could only be Weasley.

He turned around and ran back towards the forest as fast as he could, the wind striking him painfully in the face and whipping his hood off. He didn't want to help, hadn't wanted to in the first place. All he had come out into the rain and cold to do was be alone and brood about what Potter had done to his father. He hadn't intended to heal Weasley's ankle at all, but to get her back for using the Bat-Bogey Hex on him the year before.

_I did tell her I could've worsened her situation if I wanted to, _he reminded himself.

_But you didn't._

There she was, in the exact same spot he had left her. Someone else was with her. It was a boy with rain-drenched black hair, and at first, he thought it was Potter. But Weasley was desperately trying to fight him off. She wouldn't be fighting Potter at all.

And the boy's clothes were different. He wore gray trousers, a white straight-collared shirt with a black tie, and a gray blazer; they were all old-fashioned looking.

"Hey!" Draco shouted. The boy paid him no attention. He was dragging Weasley towards a strange light that seemed to float in midair.

She looked up. "Malfoy!" she screamed. "Don't let him take me!" Her voice was choked, her words so frantic they were nearly unintelligible, and her eyes wide, pleading, staring at him.

Draco jerked his wand from the folds of his cloak, but his mind was a blank. He couldn't think of one single spell. What was he going to do?

"Malfoy!" she screamed again, but too late. The boy had dragged her into the light, and they both disappeared.

What do I do? What do I do? And then Draco thought of something. _If I save her, people will worship me instead of Potter. They'll forget all about him. And the Weasley girl will be in my debt._ _She would have to do whatever I asked. I could use her to get to Potter..._

He leaped into the shrinking light after them.

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A/N: Thank ya'll for reading, and please let me know what you think. It will motivate me to finish chapter two quicker. I promise. Also, check out my LJ at http : www . livejournal . com / users / tempestus for updates and other fics.


	2. Chapter Two: The Pumpkin Patch

_Old Parchment & Green Ink_

_by lelalee83_

_Chapter Two: The Pumpkin Patch_

"Want to play a little Exploding Snap, Harry?" came Ron's tentative voice. He sat down across from his best friend, waving a stack of cards in a teasing manner. "I promise I won't singe your eyebrows off again."

Harry looked up, keeping his expression neutral. "Not really."

"Alright," said Ron. "How about a game of chess instead?"

"No. It's been a long day." Harry tried to look tired and faked a huge yawn. He rubbed his eyes and gave Ron a lazy, half-smile. "I don't feel like doing anything."

Ron nodded once, returning the smile. In his eyes, though, was worry. "Do you want me to leave you alone then?"

"If you don't mind."

Ron nodded again, rose to his feet, and then made his way back to Hermione, who had been staring at the two of them. He plopped down on the threadbare couch and threw an arm around her with a massive sigh, reaching for a bag of Jelly Worms with the other. Harry quickly forced himself to look away, gazing into the fire instead.

A moment later, he was watching his friends again from the corner of his eye. This is ridiculous, he thought, and stood up, preparing to head out of the dormitory. He didn't know where he would go, but anywhere was better than sitting here.

Harry grabbed his wand, stuffed it in his jeans pocket, and headed for the portrait hole.

He was unaware of Hermione's eyes on his back as he fled.

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The library was wonderfully empty, since it was Saturday evening, and silent as always. Harry was glad he was the only one there, besides the librarian Madam Pince; there would be no one staring open-mouthed at his scar or whispering not-so-quietly about him. At least now he could look up and not see Ron and Hermione staring passionately into one another's eyes either.

He chose a table in the back, next to a window overlooking the dreary, darkening grounds, which were empty, and sat down with a grateful sigh. The innumerable stacks of dusty, old books and towering shelves would obscure him from view if anyone came in.

Why should Ron get the girl anyway, he thought. It should be me! _I'm_ the tragic hero. _I'm_ the one that's suffered so much. Is a little happiness too much to ask? Harry wondered all this, scratching at a worn spot on the table. He covered his face with his hands, biting his lip hard. The pain comforted him a little. Why don't I have a girlfriend?

Harry slammed his fist onto the table as hard as he could, not caring whether or not Madam Pince heard.

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Draco was floating in nothingness. It was a strange experience. There was no sound, and he felt nothing. He was conscious of his body moving backward, and then, quite abruptly it stopped. Slowly, his eyes began to focus. He was lying on his back on the ground, staring up at a perfectly clear blue sky.

Fear flared in his stomach. What had he been thinking? He had just jumped into a floating white light, going who knew where, after a Weasley no less! He was alone, as in no Crabbe and Goyle to protect him. Clearly the chill in the air had slowed his rational thinking. Spontaneity is not a positive character trait, he thought. Potter is proof of that.

Feeling came back to him, and it wasn't pleasant. Tiny, sharp rocks were digging into his back, and there was undoubtedly a very large and exceptionally jagged one beneath his head. Sound began to bombard his ears, and at first, it was like listening to someone scream underwater, but it grew in volume, becoming clearer and clearer with each passing second.

Weasley.

He tried to sit up, but his muscles weren't responding. All he could do was listen to her petrified screams.

And then they stopped.

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A sudden loud sound, as though someone had hit something very hard, echoed through the library just as Hermione walked in. Madam Pince quickly rose from her chair, frowning in the general direction of the noise.

"I'm headed to that section for some reference material," Hermione said, hurrying towards the librarian's desk. "I'll check on the noise for you."

Madam Pince smiled warmly and sank back into her chair, adjusting her tiny spectacles on her beak-like nose. "Thank you, dear. I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up today at all!"

Hermione forced a laugh, and then turned and hurried in the direction of the loud sound. When she reached the very back of the library she found exactly what she had expected to find.

"Alright," she said, as quietly as she could while still sounding forceful. "You tell me right now what is wrong, Harry."

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It took several moments for Ginny to realise just what had happened, and several more before she remembered she had her wand. Still struggling, she snaked one hand down to her waistband, feeling for the grip of her wand. It wasn't there. She screamed again and again, hoping, praying, that someone would hear her.

Tom took out his own wand and pointed it at her. "_Silencio_!" He put it away again and dragged her towards the lake by her muddy cloak. It ripped as he gripped it in his fist. Ginny thought, for one horrifying moment, that he was going to drown her, and then the last thing she would see would be his blurred image shimmering through the water, smiling, mocking her. Instead, he pulled her to her feet by her hair, and then threw her away from him. She hit the rocky ground hard and tasted blood; the little pebbles cut into her cheek.

"You're from the future," Tom said simply as be tossed the torn cloak aside. He withdrew his wand again and pointed it unwaveringly at her as she sat up, his familiar indigo eyes never leaving her face. He smiled, but it was the sort of smile that promised pain, suffering, and the precipice of death. With a downward slicing motion he released her from the spell and said, "Aren't you."

Ginny nodded slowly. "I am." Her voice was small and shaking uncontrollably. Where is my wand? Maybe it slid down my trouser leg and fell out while he was dragging me. Or maybe, she thought desperately, it's still there.Gradually, she moved one hand down her thigh, pretending to assess her leg for injuries. Bit by bit, she made her way down to her ankle, and felt her wand. It was stuck inside the hem.

Tom was still smiling. "The year now is 1945. What year have you come from?" He moved closer, lowering his wand slightly.

Ginny's mind was rapidly sifting through, and discarding, possible escape plans. If only he would look away for a moment, she thought. Then maybe I could free my wand and hex him. That might give me just enough time to make it to the castle. If not, then she would go as far as she could while screaming bloody murder before he caught her again. Someone had to hear her.

An expression of gleeful malice appeared on Tom's handsome face. "Perhaps with a little pain, you'll remember." He opened his mouth, but a strange sound, like someone screaming, bellowing, and growling all at the same time, caused him to instantly snap it shut again. His wand faltered.

Ginny took less than a second to jerk her trouser leg up, pull her wand free, and yell, "_Stupefy_!" Tom tried to shield himself, but the spell hit him in the face. He flew a little ways through the air and landed on his back with a loud thud, completely still.

Not waiting to see if he was out or not, Ginny scrambled to her feet and took off running, as fast as she could, towards the castle. She had never run so fast in her entire life, except maybe the time when her brothers had turned Ron's stuffed toy into a horrible, hairy black spider, and it had come after her. But she didn't want to think about that. Screaming at the top of her lungs for help, waving her arms about like a lunatic, Ginny ran.

And then someone tackled her from behind. With a scream dying in her throat, she again hit the ground hard.

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"There's nothing wrong," said Harry, giving a little laugh and hiding his reddening hand beneath the table. "I just came to finish that History of Magic essay Professor Binns gave us last week."

Hermione looked at him disbelievingly. "Then where is your essay?"

There was complete silence for a moment. "I...uh...well, I forgot it." Harry gave another laugh, but his sheepish grin slid from his face as Hermione advanced on him. She didn't look amused.

"You're lying to me, Harry!" she cried, not bothering to keep her voice down anymore. She knew Madam Pince liked her best out of all the students anyway, and would never throw her out of her sanctuary. "Why have you been avoiding me and Ron?" She sat down across from him and folded her arms in an imposing manner. "I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me."

Harry leaned back in his chair with a small sigh. "I've just been tired lately, that's all."

"Why have you been tired?" pressed Hermione, her expression softening slightly. She reached across the table and placed her hand atop his.

With a shrug, Harry replied, "Bad dreams." He didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

Hermione's expression hardened again, and she pulled her hand away. She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment. She looks exhausted, Harry thought, and wondered why. He desperately hoped it wasn't because of late night escapades with his other best friend. But then, he would know if Ron had been sneaking out, wouldn't he? He would have heard him. _Stop it_, he told himself. _They can snog all night if they want to_.

"Alright," Hermione said, sounding defeated. "I'm sure you have a good reason for not telling me what's been bothering you, and I've had my suspicions, but-"

"What suspicions have you had?" said Harry very suddenly.

Raising her eyebrows, Hermione replied, "I thought that after last June, when..."she trailed off, gesturing vaguely with her hand. "I thought you might be afraid to lose someone else you loved, so you pushed us away in an attempt to keep from getting hurt again."

"Oh," said Harry softly, lowering his eyes.

"Or that you might be very depressed about...what happened," she continued, reaching across the table for his hand again. He stared down at her slender fingers intertwined with his larger ones.

"Oh," he said, while thinking, _current tally of hand-grabs: two._

"Or," Hermione persisted, "that you might just be jealous of me and Ron."

Harry's head snapped up. "What?!" He pulled his hand away and hastily stuck it under the table, with his other hand, out of her reach. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous?"

"Because you're lonely," said Hermione.

Harry stood up, feeling his face growing hot, and replied in an indignant tone, "I am not-"

Just then, Ron came running towards them, shouting at the top of his lungs. A very harassed looking Madam Pince was following closely behind. She managed to grab Ron by his collar and forcibly drag him away before he reached their table.

"No! I have to tell them! I have to tell them!"

Hermione rose from her seat, an expression of alarm frozen on her face.

"She's missing!" Ron cried as he was dragged away. "Ginny's missing! He kidnapped her! The slimy git kidnapped her!"

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Ginny tasted blood again, and felt it begin to dribble from the corner of her mouth. She struggled to get up, but her assailant had her pinned with his body weight. The hand holding her wand was crushed painfully beneath her and, try as she might, she couldn't pull it free. No one was coming to help her. Tom had her at his mercy.

"Don't scream when I get up."

Ginny started in surprise. That voice! It didn't belong to Tom! Vaguely thinking the voice sounded familiar, and wondering who this person was, she managed a muffled 'okay'. The suffocating weight lifted and she clambered unsteadily to her feet, her heart still beating like a trip hammer. She turned around.

"Malfoy?!" she said, taking a step back. "What are you doing here?" She remembered screaming for him to help her, just before Tom dragged her into the past, but she never actually expected him to follow. Unless... She raised her wand.

"I'm here to help you!" Draco whispered angrily, raising his empty hands up in front of himself, showing Ginny that he had no wand. He then pointed towards a patch of huge, bright orange pumpkins, and she recognised it as the future place of Hagrid's giant hut. "We can hide in there until he's gone. Come on!" He moved towards the pumpkins, but when she did not follow he stopped with an exasperated sigh. "Look, if you'd rather get hauled off again, fine. But if not, you had better follow me."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Ginny asked, lowering her wand just a bit.

"I healed your ankle, didn't I?"

Now her wand fell completely down to her side. "That was you?" she said, her mouth hanging open in obvious disbelief.

Draco grabbed her arm painfully and jerked her after him. "We can discuss that later, Weasley. When you're _not_ in danger of being kidnapped!" He led her deep into the pumpkin patch, and when they had reached the middle, he fell to his knees and pulled her down with him. "We'll hide here until dark. I'm trusting that, since this _is_ Hogwarts, there's a curfew."

"What happens if he does find us?" said Ginny, her eyes wide and fearful. She glanced around her, as though expecting Tom to jump out at them from behind a giant pumpkin any moment.

"Well, it's two against one isn't it?" Draco replied, sounding braver than he felt, and pulled his own wand from his trouser pocket.

br /br 

"What are you on about, Ron?" yelled Hermione. She and Harry were racing after him through the corridors at break-neck speed.

"Seamus said Ginny's been gone for almost two hours, and then he said that Pansy Parkinson's been threatening to hex everybody, because Malfoy is missing too!" cried Ron, without slowing down.

"Where are you going?" said Harry. Other students stopped to stare at them as they sped by, narrowly missing collisions. "Ron, stop!"

"I have to tell Dumbledore! He can find her, I know he can!" cried Ron, his words drifting back to the other two as he ran. "And when he does, he'll find Malfoy too! That slimy, sodding bastard will go straight to Azkaban where he belongs!"

Finally, they had reached the statue of the stone gargoyle that blocked the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Harry and Hermione were doubled over, trying to catch their breath. "What's the password?" asked Ron, of no one in particular. He knew it had to be some sort of sweet name, and he knew the name of just about every sweet there was, starting with Acid Pops and ending with Zooming Brooms (in seven soaringly good flavours!). He would go through each one if he had to.

"Canary Cream," said a voice behind them, and they all turned around. It was Luna Lovegood. "I heard it from a Hufflepuff seventh year," she said with a shrug, tucking her stringy blond hair behind her ears. Ron whirled back around at the sound of the gargoyle hopping aside, and without another word raced up the winding staircase, taking the steps two at a time. "What's up?" asked Luna, directing her question at Harry.

"Ginny and Malfoy are missing," he said, motioning for Hermione to go on up the stairs ahead of him. "Ron reckons Malfoy kidnapped her. I don't know though. I mean, if he wanted to kidnap someone, wouldn't he just have Crabbe and Goyle do it for him? He would never do it himself."

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. And even then everyone would know about it. Malfoy has a big mouth."They had reached the top of the staircase. The door into Dumbledore's office was wide open, and Ron was sitting in a chair before the Headmaster. Granted, he was on the edge and gripping the arms so tightly his fingers were chalk-white, but he was sitting nevertheless.

"What do you mean you knew this would happen?!"

br /br 

The sky was a mixture of crimson and coral all along the horizon, dotted here and there with a few lavender clouds. The air had grown cooler and the crickets had begun to sing a monotonous tune. And still Draco and Ginny waited.

It was then that Draco's stomach rumbled.

"Hungry, Malfoy?" said Ginny.

Draco looked at her coolly. "No."

With a roll of her eyes, Ginny crossed her dirt-streaked arms and leaned back against the massive pumpkin they were hiding behind. "How ironic then that you're surrounded by food."

"I don't like pumpkin," replied Draco with a disdainful sniff.

Ginny looked aghast. "You don't like pumpkin? What about pumpkin juice, or Pumpkin Pasties, or pumpkin pie?"

"What part of 'I don't like pumpkin' didn't you understand?" asked Draco, glaring at her. He poked her hard in the arm with his wand.

"Ow!" Ginny hissed, keeping her voice low. "Don't poke me!" And she jabbed him in the arm with her own wand.

Draco looked mutinous. "That really hurt!" He poked her again, in the exact same spot.

"I'm only returning the favour!" She raised her wand, preparing to jab him in the stomach with it, but he caught her wrist and roughly shoved her hand down into her lap.

"Don't do that again." His voice was sharp and cold, like a sliver of jagged, ice-coated glass.

Ginny wondered if his words were supposed to frighten her. There was silence for a few minutes, and then she said quietly, "You really healed my ankle?"

"Yes."

She fell silent again. Finally, "Why?"

Silence.

"Well?"

Draco thought about it. He couldn't even seem to figure it out himself. He _had _approached her with the intention of doing her a little harm, maybe a Bat-Bogey Hex so she would know how it had felt. Or, he could've laughed at her and walked away, leaving her sitting in the mud and clutching her broken ankle. Yet he had done neither of those things. Maybe it was the fact that he could heal a worthless Weasley if he wanted, or leave her to catch pneumonia. Maybe it was a power thing.

"Are you going to answer me?" pressed Ginny, fixing him with an impatient glare.

Draco sighed and turned away. "How about you shut up and let me ask the questions. First of all, where the hell are we? I know this is Hogwarts, but it's different."

"Because we're..." Ginny stopped.

"What? Spit it out, Weasley!"

Ginny frowned, her eyes narrowing. "We're in the year 1945, you rude, obnoxious prat!"

Draco still had his back to her, but his shoulders had stiffened. When he spoke, his voice was flat. "That thing we travelled through, what was it and how did it get there?"

Looking down at her feet and digging a bit in the rich, pungent earth, Ginny replied, "I had a Time-Turner, but I broke it. It must've created a portal or something."

"How do we get back? Let me guess, you don't know."

Ginny didn't answer.

"Look, it's dark enough now," said Draco, staring up at the twinkling stars and full moon. "I'm going to put a Disillusionment Charm on us, just in case." Ginny didn't protest, and he rapped her sharply on the top of her head; the sensation of cold, invisible rivulets of water coursed over her skin. She watched silently as Malfoy then performed the Charm on himself, blending in with the overlarge pumpkin behind him. She held in a laugh. Somehow it seemed funny to her that Malfoy should resemble a pumpkin, something he disliked "Let's go." He stood up slowly, looked around, and then motioned for her to follow him.

"Where are we going?" asked Ginny, glancing apprehensively around her.

Draco sighed. "There's only one place we can go, _Weasley_."

"And where is that, _Malfoy_?"

"The Forbidden Forest."

br /br 

"I mean exactly what I said, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. He glanced up. "Ah. Harry, Miss Granger, Miss Lovegood, please come in." The three filed inside and took seats around Ron, who paid them no attention. Instead, he was staring at Dumbledore as though he had finally gone completely mad.

"What's going on, Professor?" said Hermione, leaning forward in her chair.

Dumbledore sighed. "I knew that Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy would go missing eventually." He clasped his hands together on the desk before him. "The good news is that I know where they are."

"Where are they then?" shouted Ron, half-rising from his seat. "Where has Malfoy taken my sister?"

"Actually, it isn't where I'm afraid," replied the Headmaster, frowning slightly, "but when."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who looked just as confused as he did. Luna merely appeared highly interested. "I'm sorry, Professor, but we don't understand." Dumbledore turned and looked at him.

"Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy are still at Hogwarts, but not this one."

"Just tell me where the hell my sister is, you crazy old loon!" shouted Ron, gripping the edge of Dumbledore's desk and leaning across it.

"Ron!" hissed Hermione. She tried, unsuccessfully, to pull him back.

Dumbledore's expression was one of amusement. "Of course, of course," he said with a little laugh. "You will find your sister, and Mr. Malfoy, in 1945."

"What's 1945? Some kind of junior Death Eater camp or something?" said Ron, rounding on the others. "Where is it? How do I get there?"

Hermione fell back in her seat, her face blank, and her eyes wide. "He means the _year_ 1945, Ron," she said. "How are we going to get there?"

The Headmaster's eyes twinkled in that annoying way, all too familiar to Harry. "Funny you should ask, Miss Granger."

A/N: _current tally of hand-grabs: two_ I got that from a H/Hr thread title, and the scene with Draco and Ginny poking each other was inspired by a question on a D/G thread; _would Draco and Ginny ever poke eath other when they were arguing?_ That's not word for word, but it's the general gist of the question.

Let me know what you think! Check out my LJ at http : www. livejournal . com/ users / tempestus/ (minus the spaces) for updates. Also, check me out at Skyehawke under Tempestus if you like H/D.


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